Joining the Gaidin
by Lanfear Lady of Chaos
Summary: Lain Farshaw's journey to join the elite.
1. Seeing the Sites

Hi. This is the RPG I'm posting at ; not all of this is mine. It just is my story. Everything written as Lain Farshaw is mine; anything else is someone else. 'k, let's get started. Oh by the way, if you haven't read the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan, you should probably before you read this. Otherwise, not a lot will make sense. But hey, it's your life. .

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Lain Farshaw always wanted to be a Warder. Well, almost always. His 'dream' began when he was a mere boy; he family, then innkeepers, were murdered by Shadowspawn for housing Aes Sedai and hiding them. Still devoted to protecting them however he can, he yet slightly fears and is in awe of them. On his way to Tar Valon as a young boy, he joined a traveling circus, and learned tumbling and fist fighting, among other survival skills. When he arrived in Tar Valon, he worked as a peacekeeper, honing those skills, until he deemed himself ready to train to be a Gaidin.

Lain was a slightly tall man, 5'11", with a slight build. He had sandy blond hair, which fell into his eyes, hiding their bright green sheen from all but the most scrutinous. His muscular physique was also carefully hidden behind baggy shirts and breeches, his sword and knives never showing from behind his dark cloak.

xxxx

Katrann was heading to do some practice in the yards when she caught sight of a stranger.

_Well, that isn't too odd around here._ she thought. _I wonder what he wants._

She casually wandered over to the man, watching carefully for any sudden movements, any possible sign of hidden weapons. It was hard to tell with his loose baggy clothes and dark cloak, so she stayed cautious all the same.

The man had sandy blonde hair which fell into his eyes, making it hard to tell their colour. "Can I help you at all?" Katrann asked casually, watching his every move.

She still found it hard to trust people after all her years on the streets, and was often very edgy around strangers.

"My name is Katrann, I'm a trainee here, so maybe I can help point you in the right way." she said with a slight city street drawl which she was trying her hardest to rid herself of.

xxxx

Lain looked carefully at the strange woman, wondering who she was. He quickly assessed her, deeming her not a huge threat at the moment. On the other hand...

"Hello, Katrann. I'm Lain." He said, schooling his voice so no accent was obvious. "I was wondering how a man..." he coughed discreetly. "or woman began their training around here."

Seeing how she eyed his movements and was un-nerved by his mysterious appearance, he took his hands out from behind his back, showing them to be empty.

"Pleased to meet you." He held out his hand.

xxxx

Katrann gave a half grin and shook the offered hand "Well, I guess we have to go see the people in charge. I'll point out a few things as we go if you want."

As they walked across the yards, she pointed out the barracks, training grounds and mess hall. "It takes awhile to learn your way around, I'm still learning myself." she gave another small grin.

They come to a large wooden door. "You sign up in there, then you'll get uniform and assigned a place in the barracks...I'll wait out here if you want."

xxxx

Lain smiled nervously, a true smile. "That would be nice," he replied, keeping his voice from wavering. Bloody voice. So much could be given away in your voice and your eyes. Fortunately he had those covered. One, literally.

Trying to appear confident, he strolled towards the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the sudden gloom. A desk loomed.

"Umm, hello?" he called. "Is this where I sign up and such?" as he waited, wandering around, he wondered what the uniform would look like, if there was one, and where in the barracks he would be.


	2. Hand to hand

Finishing his closed contemplations, Flehrad dried off with a towel, and awaited for the students to arrive. Being barechested was no bother, as it had been too many years since he was embarrassed about it. On the farm, he worked shirtless, and only cared when going into town. But learning at the Tower had changed everything, as he once had lessons completely naked. Concentration was the key, and embarrassment led to death if not ignored completely.

A few moments later, the straggling crowd gathered, along with herding assistants and other Gaidin spectating. It was always entertainment for some Gaidin to observe new trainees and Cadre. Not only because it was amusing to see forms badly mutilated, but also for picking and observing those with talent for further advancement, and potential blademaster training. And ever since the Novices were permitted to join in the training, the tantalizing eye-candy value also increased. Especially since many of the Gaidin were not ever to be engaged romantically in any fashion. Once they lined up into basic groups, Flehrad began the lesson.

"Good Morning all."

A halfhearted reply came back. It was still early morning, and almost all of them would not receive breakfast until after the session. Flehrad on the other hand, would not be having breakfast at all, and most likely not lunch either, but he had long learned that you survived on what you got, not what you could get.

"We are starting on close combat lessons. The most essential aspect is unarmed combat. Hand to hand. The element of surprise when you can strike unarmed can be useful, and turn the tide in any dangerous situation. We must always start with our defence."

Opening his stance to shoulder width, the arms came forwards slightly in a relaxed position, left hand slightly forwards. "Just with using lathes and swords, there are basic stances. However, close combat is a issue of comfort and knowing your own abilities. Strength and speed are vital in hand to hand, and they will determine your basic stances. You must be able to protect from in front like so" Flehrad then raised his left arm above his head, forearm horizontal "above and" the forearm dropped down, horizontally at waist height "below." Returning to his middle stance, Flehrad nodded to his regular assistant. "Any defence requiring of a blocking motion or deflection works just like a sword also. Especially since the sword is an extension of your body. Meet the blow on your own terms and apply away from your body always."

The assistant threw a fast straight punch. A quick sideward step and outwards block pushed the punch to Flehrad's left. The following blow came as a downwards chop, only to be glanced sideways from an upwards sweep and away. A similar sweeping outwards block deflected a low hook punch.

"As you can see, the principles are essentially the same. Arms are not the only parts of the body to be used in combat. Heads, elbows, knees, legs, feet. Certainly also commonplace in brawls. But, anything used as a weapon, can be used to stop a weapon. For today, you will pair up and experiment. You must find the stances that you are comfortable in, that allow you the flexibility and provide the defences that you need to have. We have some Yellow Ajah Sisters attending us today for any injuries. Group leaders will be assisting and suggesting. Begin!"

xxxx

Lain breathed deep, trying to mentally prepare himself. A trainee came out of the crowd, and towards him. A sparring partner. Lain shook his head, and brushed his sandy hair out of his eyes. He really didn't feel like getting injured today; every little bit helped. He braced his feet, and assumed a ready position, his arms held around his face. The other gestured for him to go first, a small smile on their face. They probably thought him weak. In even the shirt time he had been here, he had learned that was usually not a good assumption to make around here.

Trying to catch the other off balance, he went immediately for their face, a heel flying upwards then coming down bare centimeters from the other's nose. That seemed to be his only advantage, though. The other was very good, blocking everything that Lain sent at them. Lain frowned, then kicked sideways while seeming to be backing away. The result was a very satisfying 'oomf' from his partner. They lashed out quickly, and this time it was Lain who was caught by surprise. It was all he could do to keep the other from landing a bone-cracking blow on his ribs or limbs.

Used to fighting with daggers at the very least, Lain struggled with the extended leg and arm activity. The other reached out with a hard punch, and Lain backflipped to avoid it. "All those years tumbling finally paid off. And I thought it was just fun..." Lain muttered, sweat now falling in his eyes. Suddenly, Lain realized he had landed facing away from his opponent. "Blood and bloody..."

Lain flew across the training yard. He started to get painfully to his feet, when his assailant appeared. Their hand reared back, then the heel flew towards his nose... and stopped a hair away.

"I guess you won," grinned Lain with a wince. "If this was real, I would be dead."

"Suggestion;" smiled the other trainee; "Try not to rely on fancy tricks."


	3. Relish the pain

Lain sat at the counter, happily sipping ale with Skye. It had been a long time since they had had time to just sit over a cup or two and just talk. "So, Skye, what's happened with you lately? It's been awhile..."

Waiting for Skye to finish sipping his drink, Lain gazed out the window at the shining tower. Tar Valon was so beautiful... Lain sighed. Tomorrow he must continue his vigorous training. Well, not actually resume it, as he practiced from pre-dawn to until the sun was well above the horizon every morning... He hoped he was getting better. He could feel himself getting stronger...

xxxx

"I hope that all of you have received attention from the Yellow Ajah sisters here to heal those bruises and other injuries from your training and lessons from before. Today, we will progress to basic attack forms in close unarmed combat."

Turning around, Flehrad pulled a sheet off an object behind him. "This is a wooden man, a tool available for single practice in hand to hand combat, however as we do not have enough of them in the yard, you will be practicing with each other for now, and in your spare time, you can use them."

Pointing at the strange contraption, the senior Gaidin explained it's usage to the assembled trainees. "This device represents a man. Each one of these short posts at the various heights and angles represents an arm or a leg, or even a weapon. When you strike one, it reacts." A gentle push on a post caused the object to spin and some of the posts wiggled. "It reacts in a fashion to how a person would, by turning this way, that way, and throwing counter blows. The harder you strike, the harder and faster it reacts to you. Be wary, as you will easily hurt yourself if you are not careful."

Turning back fully to the group, Flehrad began the lesson brief. "The object of hand to hand combat, is to be effective. Without a weapon, you must make use of everything you have. To the exception of knuckle dusters, wrist blades and spikes and so forth, you are already heavily armed. Versatility, variety and surprise are at your disposal." Indicating an assistant closer, Flehrad asked "How many ways are there to attack in a basic move?" The general response murmured.

Each of the moves were demonstrated to the trainees as Flehrad listed them. "One, the punch. Two, the open heel of the hand. Three, the finger poke. Four, The slap. Five, the elbow. Six, the shoulder. Seven, the kick. Eight, the stomp. Nine, the knee. Ten, the head butt."

"That is only with one side of the body. With both, combinations are possible and you can effectively deliver a series of unexpected blows quickly. Pain and injury are not always the objective, but to place them off guard, off balance, confusion, disorientation, so that you can follow with a stronger attack." Turning again to the assistant, Flehrad then asked another question "How many places are there to attack on a person?" Once again, an unsure response.

"Unlimited!"

Running his pointing finger from head to toe on the assistant, Flehrad continued. "Every single point of the body is open to attack. Knowing what is most effective is important, but even the wrong attack will still work. The body is sensitive to many things applied. You must find them."

Nodding to the assistant, Flehrad finished his briefing with their instructions. "Today, you will spend half your time on the wooden men in turns, while the others waiting will practice with each other on learning what are the most effective methods of attack on each other. There are plenty of Sisters to heal you are you progress as long as you do not kill someone. You must also remember the pain, and live to relish it. You may now begin."

xxxx

Lain listened carefully to the Master of Arms. This time, he was determined not to fly across the courtyard. However, from the sounds of things, pain was a definite thing in this lesson...

As the Gaidin finished, Lain looked around for a potential partner. As he gazed across the courtyard, he noticed everyone else was quickly pairing up. Oh well, he thought. Wooden man for me...

Lain joined the small group of people standing in line. He watched attentively as trainee after trainee struggled against the device. _This should be interesting..._ he thought. As he got closer and closer to the wooden man, he wondered whether this was a good idea or not. But before he could finish, he was thrust in front of it. Lain braced himself and threw a punch with the side of his hand. The contraption whipped around, soundly thunking into his head. "Ow..." he muttered. "Ok, I can do this." Lain kicked the wooden post lightly. Slowly, it turned to meet him, and he blocked it, sending it back the other way.

"There we go," said Lain, concentrating hard. As he blocked and kicked, he decided to try punching. As he did so, he also sped up, getting the hang of it. Faster and faster, he whirled around the wooden man.

"Ack! Too... fast!" murmured Lain, out of control. From behind, the contraption swept his legs out from under him, hitting him as he went down. "Oomf." he grunted as he hit. Inching away from the machine, he got up slowly, rubbing his new bruises. He motioned for the next person to go, and limped over to an Aes Sedai. He looked down as she took his face in her hands, and merely shivered as he was healed. He had grown up around Wilders and rejected Accepted.

"Thank you, Aes Sedai," he said with a slight bow, and moved over to the other side of the courtyard, ready for the second part of the lesson.


	4. Partner

Just to let everyone know, the part in the last chapter, at the beginning, was a meeting with a friend who also RPs. Just take it as it is. Skye is training to be an Ashaman. 'She' (in real life he's a girl) is currently a soldier.

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Lain looked nervously around, trying to spot a partner. Everybody seemed to be in pairs already... Then he saw a young man walking over from the other side. With a glance, they agreed, and walked towards each other. Finding a free spot, they squared off.

"You want to start?" Lain asked. The man nodded, and moved in to attack. "Tell me if it hurts a lot," he added as an afterthought. Lain winced internally. A lot. _Blood and bloody ashes. _Watching carefully, Lain decided not to try to block the other too much. After all that WAS the purpose of the lesson...

The man drove his fingers into Lain's breastbone, and he gasped, unable to breathe. While he was gasping, the other grabbed his hand, pinching a finger in and up. Lain sucked in air, mentally twisting in pain. "I think you could say that hurts," Lain said when he could speak again. Smiling slightly, the other released the pressure and backed off again. He beckoned with a hand, and Lain attacked.

He quickly side-stepped so that his partner was facing his back. Seizing one fist, he drove his elbow behind him, and into the other's stomach. They doubled over, and Lain whipped around, striking the other's temple with a hard slap. Dazed, he backed away cautiously, then came at him again. Soon, their section of the courtyard was a flurry of flying fists and various limbs. Both were bleeding small trickles of blood from various scrapes they received falling to the stones of the yard.

"You're pretty good at inflicting pain," grinned Lain, taking a short respite from the melee. The other shrugged, then suddenly lunged forward. In a quick series of attacks, Lain's opponent practically decapacitated him, using almost all of the various moves they had learned in the lesson. With a finally blow, the heel of his palm drove upwards, straight into Lain's nose.

Blood spilled, and Lain stumbled back, thickly gazing at the red liquid on his hands. He stared, slightly frightened and quite angry, at his 'friend'. He staggered to the same Aes Sedai who treated him before, and she quickly took his face in her hands again, wasting no time. The shock of healing came, and the flow of blood abruptly stopped, his nose no longer broken.

"You were lucky," she said cooly. "You can die from a strike to the nose like that."

"Thank you, Aes Sedai," he said with a bow. "I know."

With another bow, Lain went back to the courtyard to be dismissed at the end of the lesson. Had he just made his first enemy in the tower?

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Lain whirled around the courtyard, alone for the first time in awhile. His non-stop training hadn't had a break for a couple of weeks, but the Tower was quiet lately. Throwing patterns of alternating kicks and punches, Lain reflected on what had happened since he had arrived in Tar Valon.

He had participated in two hand-to-hand lessons- both of which he considered a success. He had caught up his friend, Skye, at a long-overdue meeting in the city. He had also made what he considered an enemy. And yet he considered the Tower quiet. He chuckled to himself, content in the late afternoon sun.

He had been practicing for an hour now- a month ago that would have him panting and gasping on a floor, unable to move. Now, he was only in a heavy sweat, his muscles complaining from the strain.

Finishing the last combination, he completed with a back flip, practiced long hours and now almost perfected. Landing, he came up facing the same way.

Tar Valon was changing him, alright.

xxxx

He had been in the training of the Gaidin for nearly seven years and he could well remember when he had first arrived to the grounds. Back then he had been a scrawny lad of seventeen summers with his dark brown hair clumped with mud and his clothes stained with street grime. One of his brown eyes had been blacked on the outside even while the inner of the eye was streaked with blood. He hadn't survived a trolloc raid nor had his house been burned down around him and his family. In fact, there was no reason for Gyle Pastrian to have left his home. His family loved him deeply. They wanted him to achieve his dreams, and they knew these dreams were to be the best warrior that Illian had yet produced. They knew he wanted to go to Tar Valon and make a name for himself with the elite of the elite. They had given him their blessing and the silver that it would take for him to get there. They had given him a horse and well cut clothes that he would be able to wear with pride when he walked in the gates. They had done everything that good parents could do in order to see their son succeed. They hadn't counted on the bandits that had waylaid him while going across the Hills of Kintara. They had stolen his horse and his clothes, but he managed to keep a hold on his sword and money. When he arrived in Caemlyn he was shocked at how much it cost for a room in an inn, so he continued to sleep in the outdoors. His sense of hygiene wouldn't allow him to continue on in the clothes that he was wearing, so he purchased another set and again started towards Tar Valon.

He could see the gleaming white spire of the Tower when his last melee occurred. Several thugs just before the south bridge of Tar Valon set upon him, took his money, busted his lip and kicked him several times before they left with his purse. He could see the destination before him and pushed on across the bridge and into the Gaidin training grounds. The man he had spoken to, Arak Tromein, told him that he apparently did need to train.

Seven years and he could still see when a new trainee began to reach a certain level of change. It had happened for him and it was happening again in front of him with this lad that was practicing his hand to hand combat.

Gyle watched as the Gaidin in Training performed a flip as if he was on a stage performing in the three rings he had once seen from a traveling menagerie. The trainee's hair was the color of sand and long, flopping down into his face. His clothes were baggy as if they were meant to hide something. Gyle wondered if the trainee could actually fight as well as he practiced alone.

Gyle waited for the trainee to finish his exercise then approached. "This do be a fine day, no? By the Creator I do be enjoying the training in something less than freezing air. Before I came to Tar Valon I no thought that snow existed, I now know that I do be wrong on that aspect. I beg pardon, I do be Gyle Pastrain, former of Illian, now Cadre of the White Tower. How do you be called?"

xxxx

Lain surveyed the newcomer with interest. From what he had seen around the grounds, and what he had just been told, this was a Cadre, what he was currently striving to be. An Illianer, from his accent, but background made no difference to him, or how good someone was.

Lain wondered how long Gyle had been there. Had he seen the flip? Was he impressed? _That makes no difference either,_ he thought to himself. _I'm doing the best I can do._ Taking in the intense, dark brown eyes, Lain replied.

"Hello, Cadre Gyle," he said with a nod he had seen other Trainees give a few Cadre around the yards. "Around here, I'm called Lain. Pleased to meet you," he said politely. He looked up into the cloudless sky, weather that he usually always felt in late spring. A warm day it was. "It is nice weather out today, isn't it." He looked back towards his new acquaintance.

"I'm of..." he paused. It seemed the natural thing to say, but he couldn't remember. Almost all memories of what he now thought of as his 'old life' had faded away. Almost all. "Of Camelyn." It sounded right, to Lain. So he was an Andoran, now.

"Would you care to join my training in this pleasant weather?" Lain asked, for he was now calm and cooled off. "I could use a sparring partner, if you'll promise not to kill me," he said with a mischievous and daring gleam in his eyes that were uncovered from their usual veil of wisps of hair.

Hand behind his back, he stood with a slight smile, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

Lain stared at the spot where a cloud of thick purple smoke drifted, where seconds ago the Cadre had stood.

"Bloody Aes Sedai..." he breathed, and continued his exercises.


	5. Lessons Learned, and To Hope

"What have we covered already in our pursuit of combat? The basic knowledge of the human body, its weaknesses and strengths. The reactions expected from and assailant. What does that leave us to learn?" As usual, Flehrad began his lesson with a rhetorical. Pacing around the students, whose bodies were beaten and battered every day from the rigors of their excess trainings, only to be unmarred and scarred with the help from the kind Sisters who lingered around the yards.

"Our own reactions. What limits us is what we know we are capable of. How fast can you strike? How fast can you block? How fast can you dodge? It doesn't matter how fast your opponent is, but how fast you are. Even if they are faster, if you know yourself, you will work out what best to do, be it attacking, defending, or even retreating. There is no dishonour in retreat because if you die, then your mission to protect is over."

Waving his hand behind the students, Flehrad brought in a group of men. Each one was holding a bow, and a quiver of arrows. "Today, is about learning your reflexes. And to do so we will use arrows as our opponent. Each one of these men are expert marksmen, they can take a turnip clean through at 200 paces with a yardcloth shaft. Do no fear, you will not die if you get shot. Their arrows are specially blunted and protected with weaved air so not to injure much. However, each one carries a bow of a different strength, and represents a different speed. A demonstration please."

A nearby cadre ran to the yard area that they had cleared. Bringing a whistle to his lips, Flehrad blew the starting signal. From about fifty paces away, the first archery fired four arrows in succession at the cadre. The cadre easily sidestepped, struck and even caught the last arrow. "Next!" called Flehrad, and the next archer stepped up to the line, progressively, they all fired their shots at the cadre until the fifth archer managed to strike the cadre with two of his shafts. "Stop!" Turning to the trainees, "That is what we will be doing in turn, split into three groups as we have enough archers. Just remember, you can always improve your reflexes, even just slightly, with practice and patience. Begin!"

xxxx

Lain watched the demonstration carefully, thankful he wouldn't be speared by a missed arrow. However, like the other lessons, he doubted this would be painless. As the Master of Arms told them to start, Lain was swept up with the other Trainees into one of the three groups. Standing in line, he watched carefully again, noticing how the archers seemed to fire all four arrows at once. This would be difficult.

As he stood, pondering how best to stop the arrows, he watched Trainee after Trainee become speckled with bruises from striking arrows. Before he realized it, he was at the front of the line, watching the man before him cower and cringe under the onslaught of missiles.

As the man stumbled away, ashamed, he trotted over to the mark, standing in front of the archers. Nodding slightly, the shooter loosed. Lain vainly reached out, trying to catch or even knock aside one of the arrows.

His efforts failed. All four arrows struck him, hitting his chest, shoulders and stomach. Gritting his teeth against these new bruises, he stood straight again, determined. He would stop them. He nodded, and another flight of arrows streamed towards him. This time, he stepped aside, letting the first two fly past him. However, as he stepped back, he tripped again, sending him into the paths of the last two. Gasping from a bolt that hit his neck, he stood tall for the last round he would do.

The archer drew his bow in an eyeblink, and Lain was ready. As the four arrows shot towards him, he sidestepped smoothly, missing the first arrow. The second he quickly knocked aside with a side blow. The third bolt struck him in the chest, but he ignored it, clapping his hands together, catching the fourth between his fingers. Barely, as it was hanging on the tips, but he had caught it. Grinning broadly, he dropped it, then kicked it aside, allowing the next person to go. He had done something.

As he reached the edge of the courtyard, he stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell to the pavement, his new bruises and weary muscles catching up to him. Wearing an abashed grin, his face red, he looked around the yard, wondering if anyone had seen. _Oh well,_ he thought. _I still have a lot to learn._

xxxx

"STOP!"

All of the archers in their lines let down their bows, the arrows hanging loosely in their hands. Each one of them looked at the commanding Master of Arms for the next set of instructions. Looking around the trainees, Flehrad's face was stoic. "I am very disappointed in what I am seeing right now. Barely any of you are getting past the first archer. Why?! It is not the lack of ability, because I know that many of you are fast enough. It is the lack of imagination." Walking over to the centre line, Flehrad indicated to the archers milling "I want you to start from the beginning." Turning to the trainees, he delivered his explanations.

"Imagination is vital in hand to hand. The same routine will be predicable, and useless. There are no rules for this exercise, except to defend yourself. It is the job of the archer to hit you, not your job to let him hit you. Go!"

The first archer let loose his volley of four arrows. As the first arrow came, Flehrad sidestepped. The entire volley passed. "Simple. Who said anything about having to stop each one separately? Next!" As the next volley came, the Master of Arms knelt and allowed the volley to pass over his head. "Next!" The third volley was also dodged, this time by moving forwards. "Stop!" Turning back, he continued. "Now it begins to get more difficult, but let the imagination begin. Go!"

The archer fired the first arrow, but instead of following suit immediately, he paused to judge Flehrad's movement before letting loose his next shot. Flehrad allowed the first arrow to skim his shoulder before he knocked the second and third arrows away. By the time the fourth arrow was loose and on the way, Flehrad had already sidestepped the path and it sailed clear. "Stop".

Leaving the center of the yard, Flehrad made one final comment. "Don't think before you move. Just move."

xxxx

Lain walked determinedly to the line. He had been practicing privately for a week, and he hoped he had improved. Having nothing to test his theory on however, he just hoped. He was ready, or at least thought he was, for another go. Realizing once again that his tumbling could be useful, he had practiced that, the various twists and dodges required.

His turn once more, he strode determinedly to the target area. With a small signal, the hard-faced archer facing him fired. He somersaulted forwards, effectively avoiding all four arrows. Returning to his mark, he prepared for the next volley.

Quickly, the shooter loosed two of the arrows in rapid succession. Backflipping, he felt the second brush his stomach, a hair's width away. Landing on his feet facing the archer, he stood steady on his feet, hitting away the last pair with two arm motions. Some came uncomfortably close, but his instinct pulled him through, his muscles remembering hours of practice.

Standing in the center again, the commoner shot his air-tipped bolts again. This time, realizing within half an eyeblink they were staggered in the air, instinct took over and he cart wheeled to the side. The shafts missed him, and Lain stood once again in the center. Shaking aside the sweat falling into his eyes from his bangs, he readied himself. It was doubtful he could repeat the feat again, but he could hope. Hope always helped.

An equally determined look had appeared in the archers eyes, except this one spoke of a desire to win, as opposed to 'escape'. Well, that was life. Knowing that the shooter would have learned from the recent trials, he prepared to move. As the bolts came towards him, he jumped backwards and to his right, going up into the air. Unfortunately, the archer had been ready for this trick.

While the first three shots had missed, ranged to the left of him, the second struck him mid-chest, knocking the wind out of him. Falling lightly to the ground, Lain clutched the spot. Breathing heavily, he looked up at his opponent.

"Good show," he said with a smile. "You're alright with that," he said, pointing at the bow. Standing up and bowing to the archer, then the Master of Arms, he walked off the training grounds, content. He had done well, and he had improved. Maybe one day he would even be as good as Gaidin Flehrad.


	6. Cracks in the Wood

The morning sun waved in the gentle breeze passing through the yards. Small wisps of grass, dust and hay blew around, dancing, prancing, flying. Such an elevation invigorated the mind, as if they had a life of their own, and were as old as a young newborn exploring the world. It saddened Flehrad on some days, that the childhood of so many people, and many of his trainees, had been asundered from their lives. The continual work of the Dark one, his minions and those who walked in the shadows killed, maimed, tortured such innocent families, and separated loved ones from each other. Further more, those young trainees burned within, for vengeance, hatred, fear, anger, and other emotions driving their desires of success as a Gaidin. True enough, they would succeed with hard work, and set forth into the world to deliver death and punishment for those who chose to walk the path of black before them. But, once in a while, Flehrad wished they could just play, relax, and be those long lost children again.

Drawing a deep seated breath through his stomach, Flehrad's strength bobbed, and he began his set of exercises. Smooth exhaling, slow breathing as he flowed. Arms, wrists, elbows flexed, snapped, and struck across the wooden man. As the pace increased, so did his heart beat and breathing, but he continued to keep his breathing as deep as possible. Coming to the end of his routine, he struck the chest of the block with both hands, a crack appearing in the wood.

As he completed, and was wiping down with a rough towel, the trainees arrived. Their yet to be hardened expressions always looked eager to learn. Without such enthusiasm, it was impossible to survive the rigors of training and still desire to wear the cloak of all colours, and give their lives to protect another. "Line up" began the lesson.

Once they had all assembled, Flehrad began with his usual briefing address. "With unarmed combat, we are using the strength of our bodies. What affects our strength in battle? It is not food, nor water. It is our wounds, our minds, and our breath." A quiet murmur rippled through the trainees. "Wounds sap our strength, as we lose our precious blood. Our minds can be weak, and fear, and without our breath, we lose complete strength. There is nothing I can teach you about your wounds. Your minds will be strengthened with all the training and field exercises, so today, we will work on our breath." Gesturing to a Gaidin nearby, Flehrad waited until he was close, before punching him in the stomach. Immediately, the Gaidin collapsed to his knees. "Without air in his lungs, he can not fight. Without air in your lungs, you can not fight." Giving a hand up to the Gaidin, Flehrad was not at all apologetic, and waited for the Gaidin to return the blow.

As the blow gathered momentum towards him, Flehrad tensed, and took the stomach punch solidly. A grunt escaped his lips, but he stood standing still. "Your stomach helps your breathing, but you can protect yourselves by tensing your stomach muscles." Thanking the Gaidin, Flehrad continued with the rest of the lesson. Another aspect of breathing, besides attacking the mouth, nose, stomach and throat, is how you use your air. The more air in your lungs, the stronger you are BUT, too much will kill you. Follow with me, deep breathing." Standing balanced, Flehrad called "Inhale!" and drew a slow long deep breath lasting almost ten seconds. "Exhale!" The controlled exhale also lasted ten seconds. The entire group breathed in and out for several minutes following Flehrad's commands. Completing the final set, Flehrad progressed further into the lesson.

"Now that you know about breathing, you must train and keep your breathing deep and long. Today, I want all of the previous exercises on the wooden man done. But, you must concentrate on two things. Speed, the faster you go, the more energy and strength you need. Breathing, the faster you go, the more important to have slow strength giving air. Short sharp breaths will not help you. While some of you practice on the wooden men, the rest will continue to practice your slow breathing rhythms. Begin"

As the groups broke off and began their training for the day, Flehrad absently picked up a blade of grass and twirled the drying green around his fingers. One day, he thought, those trainees will think back, and wish they too could relax and relive a childhood stolen, but, only when they passed their own emotions that drove them.

xxxx

Lain calmly watched the demonstration, wincing in pity when the Master of Arms punched the unsuspecting Gaidin in the stomach. If Gaidin were ever unsuspecting. Lain had done something like this once, vague memories of meditating as a child. But never while exercising. The breathing exercise would be much like that; the wooden man was another story.

Endless hours of practice had assured his speed increased, and his agility a little past his tumbling days; but he had never thought to control his breath.

Heading towards the man, he realized the others had let him ahead, and that he was first. No chance to learn from the others mistakes this time. They could learn from his...

Taking deep breaths, he stepped up to the mechanical contraption, noticing a new crack in the polished wood. He smiled, glancing at Gaidin Flehrad out of the corners of his eyes. So that's what he had been doing. Concentrating on the task at hand, he resumed a fighting stance.

He breathed deep, and leaped forward. Going at a slightly less hectic pace than normal, he noticed his breathing every time he moved. He exhaled as he struck, a trick he had learned from a friend. Inhale, exhale. All other thoughts were swept from his mind as he focused on that one aspect of his being.

Suddenly, he jumped back, narrowly missing a bone-cracking post. Maybe he shouldn't focus THAT much... He stepped forward, more warily this time. Going even more slowly than before, he struck and blocked, breathing in, then out. Not too shallow, not too deep. Every time he noticed his breath becoming quick gasps, he slowed down.

Gradually, after a few minutes, he had worked back up to his regular speed. In, out. Defend, attack. He added in his lower body for the first time this session, remembering to breath out on the offence. A boyish grin broke his rock-hard face as he slowed then stopped, his arms and legs reddened. Surprised, he noticed he wasn't as out of breath as he usually was after such a workout. Quietly, he stepped back, motioning for the next person to go.

He walked over to the other side of the courtyard, whistling a wordless tune and seeming to be floating on air. He loved it when he got better.

Lain walked carefully over to the other side of the courtyard, picking a cleanish looking bare patch of stone. Sitting down, he crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knees. Keeping his back straight he closed his eyes, and breathed.

In. Lain's thoughts drifted back to his family. He still missed them, at times, but his training schedule more often than not left no thoughts in his head except to sleep. He usually was dead to the world before he hit the pillow lately.

Out. He could still conjure pictures of them in his head, but he was worried one day he would no longer be able to. The edged around the figures in his mind were becoming fuzzed, like a drawing left out in the rain. Maybe he would see a carver in the city and have images wrought. He had heard of many Aes Sedai doing that, since they lived so much longer.

In. He thought of what he had become since he came to Tar Valon. When he had stepped in here, he hadn't expected it to be easy- he hadn't known what to expect- but it was hard. He had known that much. He hadn't seen Skye in weeks- apparently they cracked down just as hard in the Black Tower.

Out. Lain considered how far he had gotten. He was currently doing Hand-to-hand; he had heard there was one more lesson, then he would see if he had passed. He couldn't quite remember, but he thought he needed at least one more type of lesson- and then the sword. He had never held a weapon besides a belt-knife or a bow before, and he wondered how it would feel. Would he be bad at it? Would it come easily? He could never become a Gaidin without mastering the sword first. He would have to kill people. The thought had never occurred to him before- now it did. To protect an Aes Sedai with his life, his before hers- that was the life he had chosen. If he didn't fail the training.

Blinking, Lain opened his eyes, surprised to find everyone getting up. The lesson was over. Rising with the others, he brushed off his clothes, and silently left, deep in thought.


	7. Final Test

Until this stage of the hand to hand lessons, none of the trainees had really understood the seriousness of each lesson. As always, Flehrad finished his series of lessons with a reality test, where the crud of mankind that lived in the city participated. It was the most basic form of villainy available, the mercenary, thugs, mobsters and general louts willing to take a few blows here and there for the sake of a coin or two. But, they with their greed fed their strength and desires, creating worthy opponents for trainees to combat. Today was no different.

"Line Up!" The cry was taken up by the various helpers Flehrad had recruited for the day. Unlike regular lessons, there was always a large number of trainees, but this time, there was also a crowd of opponents to control.

"Today is our final lesson for basic hand to hand combat. You will be tested with your ability to attack and defend, with a real opponent. Them." Flehrad pointed at the scruffy ragged motley men and women milling around behind the line of Gaidin wielding lathes.

"As usual, there are penalties for losing. If you lose, you pay the coin owed. If you win, you have the satisfaction of staying debt free."

Turning around, Flehrad redirected his finger at the center of the yard. "That circle is your arena. Step outside, and you will automatically lose. Until you experience The Rough, you will not appreciate the ability to hold your ground. There are no rules except that you must fight unarmed. If you are killed, the marksmen on the walls will put a yardcloth through your killer. If you kill your opponent, you will dig their grave and bury them yourselves. That is the penalty of uncontrolled attacks. The fight ends when one person exits the circle, falls unconscious, or declares forfeit! Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Good. One at a time, in your lines! Begin!"

xxxx

Lain gulped, then confidently strode to the back of the line. He immediately began stretching, paying special attention to his legs and arms. Picking up a foot from behind him, he held it up, watching the first Trainee. It was the thin-lipped demon who had faced him before, breaking his nose and almost taking his life. There would be no tears shed on Lain's part if he died in this.

Unfortunately, it was the ruffian that was getting beat up. Lain's nemesis whirled around the criminal, creating large bruises and cracking bones. After awhile, they leaped forward, breaking the nose. The man fell dead to the ground. Lain whistled soundlessly, watching as the Trainee was berated and handed a shovel. He trudged off to dig the grave, the body was carried away, and the next in line went into the bloodied circle.

Lain was nervous now. He was pretty sure he had enough self-control- but suppose the ruffian knew a few tricks? _I'll just have to counter them with my own, _Lain told himself. Before he knew it, he was being pushed into the circle by the person behind him.

He stumbled into the circle, regaining his footing within seconds. He cautiously moved towards the middle, realizing that it would be a distinct advantage to be further from the edge. Suddenly, a half-crazed man, dirty in rags, rushed towards Lain from where he had been released. Ducking quickly, he let the man go past him, then rose and kicked the fighter in the small of the back.

The man stumbled toward the edge, but only for a few steps. He whirled with grace unusual for his size, his speed almost impossible for such a large body. Lain was caught unawares, receiving a sharp blow to his face, barely managing to tighten his stomach muscles before they were hit. He doubled up, gasping, kicks falling around his shoulders and neck. Infuriated, Lain rolled, coming up to the side of the giant. Making his hand into a blade-like plank, he chopped at the man's neck.

The mercenary turned to face him with a roar of rage, arms flung out to catch Lain, but he was ready for his quickness this time. Just as it seemed he was backed against the edge of the circle, he dove between the man's braced legs, slapping the ground to reduce the impact. He rose behind the man, who was puzzling over where his prey had gone. Quick, but not smart.

Lain padded silently to the opposite side of the circle, then turned quickly around. He ran towards the back of the giant in a heartbeat, rising into the air as he went. He struck the man's shoulder, full force this time, as he turned to meet the recognized threat behind him. The fighter managed one punch, directly to Lain's eye, before he flew out of the circle, landing several feet away. Lain crumpled to the ground, stars exploding before his eyes.

Slowly, he rose, nursing his injuries. He would have two nice black eyes soon, to match the many bruises he felt developing, especially on his face. But that didn't matter now. He had won. He limped slowly out of the circle, gesturing for the next person to go. He struggled to remain erect, his head now held proudly high. He had won.


	8. Throwing Knives

Andrae fiddled with a knife as she waited for trainees to assemble on the slight slope in front of her- the Kandori looking all the world like a young woman some beau would want to court, were it not for the Gaidin's cloak tied lazily to one side as light gleamed off of the long knife she played with. The sun was out and it was clear- probably the worst weather for what she was going to have them do. _They've got to learn some day. _

A row of targets backed by boards stood off to one side. A rack the size of a long dinner table turned on its side filled with various sized knives stood behind her. She rolled the knife on her knuckles, honey brown eyes watching the trainees. _They look so young. _She knew she wasn't old in any sense of the word, but the faces of the trainees were fresher than any of those she had seen in a while. _Well, you have to start somewhere._ The serious looks of a good number of them said that they were ready for it. She smiled her half smile and moved to speak with them.

"Greetings, my name is Andrae Dircan. I will be your instructor in knife throwing today." Her voice was friendly, she thought. "First thing's first- who has used a knife before?" Hands went up unsteadily until eventually every one trainee had their hands in the air. "Fantastic, then you know what you like and I can trust you not to stab yourselves. The day's looking better already." A few trainees laughed uncertainly. "The first thing I'm going to ask you to do is grab yourselves three knives each and line up in front of a target. What you'll be looking for in the knife besides a nice point is a nice balance. Keep that in mind." She paused and watched them watching her. She kept on her half smile as she noticed some looking at her with obvious mixed feelings- being a woman Gaidin she evoked a hand full of those one an hourly level and had grown used to it, as had the other women in the Yards. "Well. Go to it."

They wasted no time picking out blades and lining in small groups of three or four in front of her six target boards.

"Knives are useful pieces of equipment. They can help you in close range and in distance fighting. If you take no knowledge from this lesson but the fact that a knife on your body will help indefinitely then this is worthwhile and I will consider you better off in the world.

Knife fighting is an art on its own and I will not overload you with that yet. So let's start on basic throwing." She gripped her knife. "Depending on the knives you've chosen there are different grips. Hopefully you'll learn both today. The first is particularly good for one sided blades; Grip the blade, with the dull side on the palm of your hand, blade on the outside. Be sure you are relaxed while you do this. Nervous people with knives never helped anyone." She looked at a few trainees. "Alright. Good. Now for the second. In this the knife acts as a straight extension of your arm. Pinch it like so," she demonstrated, holding the knife between her thumb and two fingers. "good."

"Alright, when it comes to throwing, you want a constant movement. Watch me carefully." She threw her knife into the nearest target five paces away. She changed her grip and spoke as she threw another. "Just keep in mind a flowing form that you can always come back to each time you release." Both knives sat side by side in the inner most circle of the target. "Okay, do as I do and listen to what I say..."

She had them throw and retrieve on her release in the bright sunlight until she thought they were ready for the next stage.

xxxx

Lain slowly walked with the other Trainees, surprised at how much his body had gotten used to the intense physical training that was now his way of life. There will still many days when he went to bed and woke up sore, but the pain was less, and there were days he didn't ache at all. _The Master of Arms would probably say I wasn't working hard enough... _he thought to himself with a grin.

Once arrayed on the slope, the group began to look around, taking in the targets, and rack of knives. _Throwing knives, by my guess..._ Brushing his hair from his eyes, he stood stiff-backed, facing the woman. He hadn't seen a woman Gaidin before, but he knew they existed, and she looked no different than Lain had expected. Muscles corded her frame, a testament to the training she had done, and most likely still did,

"Greetings..." Lain listened attentively as she spoke the explanation and instructions, raising his hand when asked if he had used knives before. Moving with the throng, he selected three of the knives before him, checking the balance with his finger. Satisfied, he nodded, moving to a line in front of a target. He nodded as she talked; he had heard some of it before. The way of holding the weapon was new, however.

Chuckling with the others at the clumsy attempt of the first person when Andrae Gaidin signaled, he tested the ball of his thumb on his blade, raising an eyebrow when a thin line of red appeared. _At least I don't have to worry about it falling out of the target,_ he though wryly. Suddenly, it was his turn, and he took his place before the target. Holding the knife carefully in one hand, he adjusted it with his other, positioning the fingers.

"Release!" Lunging forwards onto his other foot, he brought his arm back and forwards. Lain grimaced as the weapon flipped awkwardly a few times in the air, hitting the target dull side first. He picked up his second knife, adjusting the positioning slightly. This time, on the command, it flipped smoothly, sticking in the wood for a few seconds before falling to the ground. _More power, fool! _he scolded himself.

"Release!" Leaning smoothly forwards, he snapped his arm and threw the knife, watching it slice gracefully through the air. Lain hid a smile as the point dug into the target. Not quite the middle; actually, not even close. But he had hit the target, and it had stuck. It was a start.


End file.
